Gagahhhhh

Boaz has been doing Gaga for three and a half years. He attends class daily, often twice a day. He is still discovering, still learning, and aspires to be a “Gaga People” teacher. After three years of consistent study, Ohad still feels he is not ready. This work is intense and Boaz has such an eye for noticing if someone is really “in it” that I know consistent class takers look to him for feedback, encouragement, and discipline. I think he would be a tremendous teacher. I refer to him as the Mayor of Suzanne Dellal, his enthusiasm for Batsheva, Gaga, and dance is larger than the entire dance compound and the entire neighborhood of Neve Tsedek for that matter.

I am staring down my final classes here and this realization comes with a great deal of sadness and worry about when I will have another experience like this. Gaga classes transport me to someplace I have never been, and like Boaz, I have been taking multiple classes a day. At least two, and on Thursdays, 3 classes. It does not get old. Despite having a familiar framework, the places our teachers have taken us have been profound. The dynamic range, the rhythmic structure, the imagery, and the inventiveness have been so challenging, unexpected, and thrilling that it is impossible to even recognize myself, let alone remember all the discoveries.  Despite writing as much as I can remember in my journal. I’d say for every entry, there are probably 4 more ideas that evaporate from my mind and my only hope is to get it all back in some other way. I got my wallet back – so I am hopeful!

Gaga is so much more than simply writhing around as though there were an alien trapped in your torso ( as so eloquently stated by my friend, Helen.) There is room to play, room to rapidly switch dynamics, the movement possibilities boggle the mind, and the exploration as a performer is a welcomed by-product. The hardest thing to do is explain how these classes differ from other improvisation classes and I am summing it up and defining it as “detailed.” The directives are so specific and produce one very clear image that I feel as though I can work with a single idea for days and continue discovering. What I love is that the movement does not simply reside in simple wiggling, but also in taking HUGE risks, and going someplace wild an unimagined. One second you are as calm as a lake, the next severely percussive.

I often tell my choreography students to be certain that their vocabulary is congruous with what it is they are trying to say. I have seen way too many pieces that claim to be about political injustice, but somehow pirouettes and leaps make their way into the work. Albeit, the dancers are doing them with grimaces on their faces, but that only makes matters worse. In Gaga, there is no superfluous story laid on top of the movement, just the physical image that is supposed to manifest itself. In today’s class especially, I saw the beauty of the expressive body through the movement instruction, allowing us to say more than any sort of arbitrary facial expression or harangue in a show program that tries to define an hour’s worth of dancing. The bound elbows, the unyielding legs, had infinitely more power than any words could ever hope to have.

For some Batsheva dancers who were part of the company in the early stages of Gaga, about 10 years ago, Gaga was the ONLY training they had. There was no ballet background for some, maybe theatre, but certainly no rond de jambes in their past, but they were open to investigating minutia. These days, the dancers may get one or two ballet classes a month, the rest is all Gaga – and they meet almost everyday. Granted, the new crop of dancers hail from Julliard and many other cream of the crop dance schools – so they have a leg up – tee hee – how punny! But this emphasizes Ohad’s interest in deepening the experience for the dancers.

I have had the pleasure of experiencing a wide range of teachers: Gavriel and his goofy approach, Stefan with his über sexual gruntings and pantings, Caroline who stops us if she doesn’t see what she wants, Shoachar and Adam who are the gentle souls of the group, and tomorrow I’ll have Idan, reputed to be the best. Each has a different focus but they use similar devices and imagery, it is just that some are energetically relentless, others more quiet, all are surprising and unpredictable. None allow us to be lazy and all compel us to motivate internally and manifest externally, always moving in an alert way and never burying ourselves in cumbersome thought.

Ohad is now offering the first ever certification program for Gaga teachers. This is a nine month course designed to deepen one’s practice of Gaga and will focus on the subtleties that make this technique what it is. The selection process for teachers is rather rigorous, requiring letters of recommendation, a substantial dance background, the ability to speak multiple languages, and a fierce resolve to work deeply and with unwavering focus. This course is based on the detailed language of Gaga and is a journey through the differences between “quaking and shaking, ” “floating and suspending,” “circles and arcs.” The list feels endless.The images are vivid and for me, offer a new way to think about the relationship each body part has to the other. They are delicious nuggets of motivations and are so sublime in what they produce. They awaken all the senses, even the sense of taste. Yes, taste; it’s a focus in class. AND – did you know you can use the back of your neck to take the temperature of the room? Neither did I!

Understandably, Ohad is very protective of this method and has encouraged everyone to use these ideas and explore them on their own, however, no one is allowed to call it Gaga, except of course, upon completion of the 9 month intensive. The governing body of the Gaga concept or institution has been vigilant in their efforts to protect the name. and rightfully so. Think of it the same way you would think of Pilates, especially with regard to licensing the name. It is all the rage, all the buzz, and few can even begin to understand the depth. Even after my five weeks, it is clear that there is much much more. In fact, here, no one, I mean NO ONE is allowed to attend a single class. It is impossible, regardless of what one’s situation is. Either you are in for a period of investigation or you aren’t in at all. Period. It would be easy to recreate a Gaga class almost anywhere under any circumstances, but that would not do the history of the concept justice, and could potentially dilute the sensation, and possibly take away the beauty of this way of moving. Being a total fan, I do understand the one class rule, even though it may make the experience feel all too exclusive and secretive. In addition, I do intend to share some ideas and concepts which I will morph into my own verbage ( a request from the teachers as well ), yet I admit that I know as much about Gaga as I do about thermodynamics, so what I bring back is just what I was able to glean from the 30 or so classes I have had. I will tread lightly and respectfully, knowing that there is way more to learn, and calling myself an expert would just be wrong. Plus, the LAST thing I would want is to face the wrath of Ohad.

Tonight I see Fresco Dance Company, and per Boaz’s suggestion, I will see it after taking a Gaga class. I’ve done this before and he is right , watching dance after a dance class enriches the experience. I saw Michael Miller last night – no need to review it at all. Throw on the soundtrack from Kanye West’s VH1 Storytellers performance, put 6 high school girls on stage, do the same phrase for an hour, and ask for money.

I really do hope Boaz makes it into the Gaga teacher’s training program. I’ll admit – it is such an amazing opportunity. But at $9,000, it is a bit too rich for my blood! However, for Boaz and his experience, I believe he would be an asset to the teaching community. All you need to do is watch him continue dancing well after the class has concluded to recognize, Gaga can lay claim to changing someone’s life. It certainly did for Boaz, and for me, well, it goes without saying.

Booty Slap

If I had one shekel for each time I have been asked to shake, quake, vibrate, or jostle myself in a dance class these last two weeks, well I wouldn’t be rich because one shekel isn’t worth anything, but I would have lots and lots of them. These Israelis sure do love to shake themselves silly. Shake on the floor, shake standing up, shake bent over, shake on your side, shake while you are walking, shake your pelvis while laying on your stomach….huh? —whoa nelly!

There is a definite, obvious, tangible sensuality that not only lives in the bodies of the dancers here, but you see it on the streets, in the cafes, in restaurants, you name it. The connection to the self and the acknowledgement of one’s sexual power is virtually impossible to miss. Perhaps it’s in keeping with the life of leisure that seems to permeate the city. I mean, no matter where I am on any given day, be it the beach, a class, a cafe, there are hoards of people alongside me, not working. The pleasures of life, at least my favorites, are ubiquitous and absolutely impossible for me to resist. How can I pass a cafe and not convince myself that I need to stop for an espresso? Gaga was hard today – I deserve it! How do I glide past a store front that is featuring the coolest plaid shirt I have seen in ages? The pastry / chocolate shop? Fogeddaboudit. Are these the temptations of hell? How is it that this city is able to lay out a veritable cornucopia of all my favorite things on a daily basis, and how do I not respond? P.S. Israelis are also very very beautiful. ( So are you, honey! )

Of course this is coming from a non-working, tourist’s perspective. Therefore in order to make my point, I need to go back into the studio where dancers and people are more real and more eager to bring out vulnerable sides of themselves, within an open and accepting environment. There appears to be a need to touch, be touched, and an affinity for loving the human body that I am not often able to see back home. I do not doubt that there may be body insecurities and worries, but if moving and dance are the most honest ways to glimpse someone’s psychology, then I would say, my vantage point is a clear one.

The weekend workshop that I took was comprised of mostly non-dancers. I wasn’t aware that it would be that way, certainly not at the beginning, but as the weekend went on, more and more non-dancers invaded the space and brought their eagerness to move, into the studio. While it seemed benign in the early stages, I noticed that as the participants got to know each other better, and camaraderie was beginning to blossom, there was a shift in the air, a change in emphasis not only in the participants, but in the teachers. The material and the classes started venturing toward places that, quite frankly, felt sleazy. I would not mention this otherwise, but my friend Hila, whose motto is:  ”I accept YOU and the WORLD with no judgements” had a similar feeling – so I knew I wasn’t too far off base.

Classes began in a very similar fashion and no matter how many classes I took in a day, each began with us on the floor sensing one thing or another: our weight, our breath, our skin, our pelvises, our faces, etc. etc. Honestly, I grew so insanely tired of the jargon that I thought I would purposely do the opposite of what was being asked. What if I chose to hold my breath? What if I allowed my arms and legs to float off the floor, giving the finger to gravity and allowing my legs to do the splits? What if I busted out the “Single Ladies” dance? There is no end to how controversial I can be. In addition, following all this introspection was a list of directives that so quickly took us out of this realm that it made me wonder; why did we do all of that internal sensing in the first place? Gratuitous? Because that is what you are supposed to do? Oh – let’s not forget, the abundance of shaking. So, OK – I make it through that same warm-up, minus my rebellion fantasy, even though we had already been warmed up twice before, and we move on to walking around with our eyes closed and arms outstretched. The teacher, a noted Contact Improv. Guru in Israel, then asked us to find each other in the space, with eyes closed, and asked us to explore the bodies around us. I hardly need to tell you what happened next. It was a festival of glands and hormones. SO much obvious, inappropriate touching that went way outside of anything that is supposed to happen in a class of this sort, it made me cringe. It felt blasphemous.

Here was the difference of this kind of exploration as it relates to dancers and non-dancers. The respect that a dancer holds toward another person and his/her body cannot be denied. It is this respect that allows us to touch, interact, and become intimate with the utmost trust and security. What these other people brought into the room was so foreign to me, that I did not know how to process it. Hila mentioned it took every ounce of strength she had to not just leave the class. We endured, partnered each other, cleansed ourselves afterwards with a delicious Italian dinner and phenomenal wine. What better way to rid yourself of the crass groping and stinky armpits that assaulted you earlier, than with a hearty bowl of pasta and gelato?

I am not saying that dancers are better than non-dancers. Calm down. jeesh. I am saying that sensitivity to one another is an integral part of dance education and learning how to listen through the body is critical. One assignment in the class was to create ” a sensuous dance with the arms and allow that sensuality to travel through other parts of the body. ” sigh – OK…..here we go again….time to put on a “cup ” and some body armor…

Through a complex series of square dance like maneuvers, I was arbitratily paired with a man who clearly confused sensuality with spasms and violence. He threw his arm around with the ferociousness of someone swatting a swarm of African killer bees. Despite my attempts to go to the other dynamic, hoping he would “listen” to my arm, hoping he would catch on, there was no saving this duet. I had to exit my “sensual” creation with this rabid octopus, or else I would have had a black eye, and quite possibly, would not be able to have children. The next guy was not quite as bad, but he failed to understand the nature of allowing things to happen organically and my ass was grabbed “accidentally” so many times. How this happened when we were supposed to remain connected at the wrists, I’ll never know. Then peace came. I had made friends with a really cool guy who was very skilled at contact, we had worked together two days prior. The square dance brought us together, and we lifted each other, twisted, dove, caught, held, and threw each other into new places of release and new places of trust. My last partner was Hila…salvation.

I since returned to my Gaga world and have been having an equally sensuous experience, but in these classes, it is all independent, except for the spanking of course. I’ll get to that in a bit. Gaga is totally sensuous, totally pleasure driven, and totally not bashful about it. Where in release technique, dancers tend to hide and go deep within, I find that the movements that are generated with Gaga are often quite similar, except for the fact that the movements connect to the world at large. Show your sensuality, show the depth of your emotion, show the power of your stance. When the fingers vibrate, the legs resonate with that energy, when your torso moves, the head responds and shows off its reaction with boldness. Each pore is alive, each nerve ending awake with sensing. There is no rest. Only alive bodies. Bodies that are totally engaged; from the pads of the feet to the head and out to the acreage of land that lies beyond the studio.

I had a Gaga class with Gavriel, who has been teaching for quite some time and is also a dancer with Barak Marshall. Each teacher brings something new to class, and I have found that if there is a standard protocol, I have yet to discover it. Gavriel was interesting. I didn’t know if he truly wanted to be teaching that day, or if his normal demeanor is a little aloof. But picture if you will, Bruno, the gay fashionista made famous by Sasha Baron Cohen in the film of the same name. Gavriel flew around the space as though he were in heels and afraid he might fall. He played all of his favorite music and basically we were treated to what would have been, had there been a cover charge and drink specials, a drag show of the most interesting quality. We gaga-ed to the Pussycat Dolls and Beyonce, and it is during this class that we all found ourselves on our stomachs, “quaking the pelvis” ie. humping the floor. The class concluded with us in little trios taking turns spanking each other all over. The spankee was to react with sensuality and attention to the sensations of the body. The spankers, with the help of Gavriel, who traveled around from group to group, unleashed a torrent of slaps and spanks all over the spankee, with only minor consideration of what was being hit or slapped. While this has happened in each of my gaga classes, Gavriel took it to a new place by asking us to make the victim’s skin red.

This is the penultimate step to unadulterated sensuality. The farthest one could go in modest company. The boundaries were and are pushed, and in this class it was all OK. It was pure, even with RuPaul in the captain’s seat.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to have an espresso, buy a shirt, and spank a stranger.

Plato said this about art

Choreography is the window to the soul, not the eyes. At least for me it is. My eyes have become a bit droopy these days anyway, and on this, my 44th birthday I think – why don’t my friends just pitch in and get me that eyelid lift I have been wanting?

In other news about my vanity, I also think about dances, making dances, dances I have seen before, dances in my head that want to be made, dances in my head that are way beyond my capabilities to make, bad dances, good dances, in between dances – I can’t stop. I never would have imagined that I would choose to obsess and work in such a tedious medium. You need a bunch of people to help you make your thing happen: dancers, musicians, light people, sound people, stage people, program people; and if you don’t have Greg Catellier – you are doomed, plain and simple. There is just so much shit to deal with: scheduling, no money, studio space, grants, expectations, audiences, reviewers, friends who come to see your stuff, friends who don’t, friends who never say anything about your stuff, friends who say all the right things that you have trouble believing them…the list is endless. Dance is that thing that disappears as it is happening; etching, however, if it is good enough, or bad enough, an imprint that lasts indefinitely. It crawls inside you, grips your guts and psyche, and squeezes them – hard.

I believe that if we look at whatever it is we do with our lives, be it raising children, being a choreographer, being an executive, or the host of a travel show ( dream job ), we will find that the way we do our stuff directly relates to the way we live our lives and/or the way we think about ourselves. For me, this realization came several years ago. (I was a late bloomer. ) While doing all of that bothersome thinking about dances, I began reflecting on my work and what it meant to me and I found that the pieces I make are a mirror for the way I relate to others and myself. I have never been keen on allowing people to examine me, and so to that end, I never really land ( think of a house fly ) long enough to invite scrutiny. One on one conversations, teaching, talking, interacting…when I think too much is being seen, I run and hide. I think of it like this…it’s kind of like driving up to a house. You might think the house is nice but then when you look carefully you see the chipped paint, the weeds in the garden, the hose that isn’t neatly rolled and tucked away. So, it would be best if you drove by really fast and have a vague memory of what it is you saw. My dances are very much the same. I’ll provide plenty of distraction, many people moving around, no time to allow anyone the opportunity to examine anything, for fear that you will see the chipped paint and weeds. Busy busy busy, get it done and get out. All my insecurity and doubt is inside those dances. If you get bored, I crumble. No different than if you come to our house for a party – if you are bored, I’ve failed and will try to improve on the cosmopolitans for the next time. That is, if I can find the courage for a next time.

Somehow, the courage surfaces briefly but then your aesthetics shift. It’s a complete surprise. You just kinda thought that you’ll like what you like and that’s it. While I will always love cucumbers and watermelon and pray that that love will never go away, I can’t deny that, whether brought on by seeing inspirational dances, or just boredom with what I have done in the past, what I want to see and do choreographically has shifted dramatically. I used to only be interested in making pretty dances to pretty music. Decorating the soundtrack – making eye candy. I guess that comes from colorguard since that is the PRIMARY concern with that activity, but even that seems to be changing, too. I want audiences to feel, think, be moved, touched by, and engaged by what I put on the stage. I want it to linger, I want it to be sticky; something you can’t get off of your hands. I want gasps, and I want people to talk about it. After all these years of moving dancers around on stage I know I can get them easily from point “A” to point “B”, and I know I can do it with musicality. It is what I have been doing for years. What I don’t know is if I can make something that lives in a more profound place. I don’ t know if I have that kind of courage or skill. I don’t know if I have the  confidence it takes to reveal the weeds and chipped paint and not apologize for it, or at the very least, not point it out so that people know that I know it’s there.

Two nights ago I saw Yasmeen Godder’s company perform a piece  called “Storm End Come.” Six dancers, a continuous sound score and one idea. Now, in her program description, which reads like a Jungian thesis, she describes something that would take about 45 nights of dance concerts to convey, at least in my opinion. What she delivered was an idea that slowly unfolded, exposed itself, and slipped into the dark recesses of the stage. Dancers adopting animal personas, licking their arms, howling, hissing, shrieking, and amidst all of that, engaging in breathtaking contact work. This concert was basically the antithesis of the way I choreograph and although for me, it didn’t ALL work, I admired the confidence it took to just say the same thing continuously for 70 minutes. It was fragmented, and I wafted in and out of the work, waiting for those moments of crystalized togetherness, wading through, patiently, the moments that just seemed to be like that faint ringing you can sometimes get in your ear. Annoying, but a bit curious at the same time. I saw restlessness around me, and I saw people sitting back in their chairs; of course I’ll never know what they were thinking, but body language says a lot – especially in these circumstances. The show ended and the applause was generous, not crazy, but generous and afterwards I lingered to hear what people had to say. I eavesdropped to see if my thoughts aligned with others’. Fragmented, depressing, weird, exciting, beautiful were the words I heard. Keep in mind, that my eavesdropping is more difficult here because I have to stalk English speaking people. So my shifting around looks especially bizarre. Therefore I must pretend to be on the phone and move around stealthily, crazy how much time I eneded up spending by the entrance to the bathroom. But the fact remains, this dance was stuck on people’s hands. Success.

Kathleen once said there is no universal truth. There is no one type of dance that people like. She also said you can like pizza AND you can like steak, so stop comparing yourself. But I have always been one to want the thing that is closest to me at the time. If I am at a steakhouse, I don’t long for pizza. If I am at a movie, I don’t wish to be hiking. When I am in France, I want desperately to be French. My grasp on who I am and what I like is so tenuous that it gives way to whatever is more appealing, whatever is in front of my face. I forget who I am and what I do, and end up admiring the thing in front of me because I see it as perfect. I don’t see the untidy hose. Hence, I copy, imitate, become a choreographic chameleon, hoping to brush by the color or shade that suits me the best. Therein lies the perfection. Therein lies the impossibility.

When I have a day that isn’t packed with classes, meetings, rehearsals, etc. I am given the rare opportunity to consider how I would like it to unfold. I usually decide to fit in all the things that I enjoy the most. I carefully consider all the options, try to organize them logically, streamline them, move the laundry downstairs, figure out how one drive connects to the next, wipe a crumb off the counter, make sure that there is proper flow in the day, contemplate emptying the dishwasher, try to find efficiency, fur-minate Abby, re-debate the order of events, recalculate distances, listen to the refrigerator to make sure it isn’t making that whirring noise, reconsider if one drive is really worth the effort, move that magazine to a different part of the table, rethink the necessity of the dry-cleaning errand, the visit to the bookstore, the stop at Starbucks, empty the dishwasher, take Abby for a walk, debate my driving route. I usually begin this process at 9am and when I find myself still in the house at 4:00, I think to myself, “ Well, I can’t miss Judge Judy, now can I?” and suddenly the day is lost. The perfect day is gone because I could not find the perfect plan. Anything less than perfect would have been a waste, and clearly what I did was waste the day perfectly – again. Not having a schedule is like walking on toothpicks. If you balance correctly, you can get by, but get a little distracted, and those toothpicks are the first things to go. Is the lesson more “carpe diem-ish,” or is it: “get the board out of your ass-ish and just do something?”

This is absolutely the way I feel when I choreograph. I put each spice in the cupboard into the dance – shroud it with all the things I love, and consequently I end up covering up so much detail, so much nuance, because I fear your boredom. I never want to take for granted those magnificent opportunities to make work and show work, that is why there is so much dread and agony in the creating process. That is why the kitchen sink goes into the work as well. It has to endure. It has to be perfect. But – where do I start, what do I do? Which admirable dance do I emulate – how do I bury myself enough to make the work look right? how?

As expected, it took me about 50 minutes to choose the perfect spot to lay out.

-torture.

-a shift is necessary.

I can’t say for certain what the next dance will be like, but for me, now, today, I am going to the beach. I already know what I am packing for lunch and am hoping that I can plan the day perfectly so that I can be out of the apartment long before Judge Judy comes on in the states.

so the giraffe and caveman rather enjoyed their tea

Dellal by Day

“Your feet are firmly planted on the ground, but the rest of you is floating, the bones are floating away from the protection of the skin, the flesh of your body releases its grip on the bones and floats, too. Connect to the pleasure of it.”

This is how my journey into Gaga began. As I write the words, I immediately remember the sensations and to say it is still emotionally powerful would be euphemistic. In a room with well over 30 strangers, I danced for the first time in 20 years. I danced the way I should have been dancing, that is to say, with abandon, without judgement, without competition. In this room that was situated atop one of three buildings that comprise the center, I had a clear view of the Mediterranean, and today, something with that calibre of beauty paled in comparison to what I was witnessing and what I was experiencing. In short, it was a physical catharsis – nothing else mattered.

“Connect to the pleasure of falling. Fall up, Fall sideways, Fall and continue falling when you can no longer fall. Can you let the fall change directions suddenly?”

I may be revealing a little too much, but honestly, the energy in the room was akin to the mystery and euphoria that exists in “those types” of nightclubs where lots of things glow in the dark and you have to be in a certain state of mind to truly enjoy it all. There we were, exploring, finding, and researching ourselves and finding where we get stuck, while discovering the keys to unlock holding patterns. The descriptions were crystal clear and produced so many feelings that is was virtually impossible to not be in the moment, and consequently, tremendously difficult to always remain in tune with what the body was doing. The mind operated only to send the initial signals. After that, it became quiet. My mind simply stopped attacking itself and me. It stopped and enjoyed the quiet. It had the wonderful opportunity to “just be.”

“Make your fingers as delicate as possible, not fragile, but delicate and allow them to have a conversation with your torso. How do they react to each other?”

We stood there, vibrating, punching, releasing, falling, sensing and listening to the air around us, we let go and just moved. We chose the volume of our movement, both spatial and physical, we made spontaneous choices and accepted each choice with graciousness. We thrashed on the ground and found dangerous vocabulary. The ways I/We  moved,  which I have never personally felt before, are what kept me/us hungry to find more. The door was open wide to a field of more exotic sensations.

To appease the nay-sayers… It is hard to asses, after only one class, where traditional technique fits in. There were some plies, one tendu in each direction, a few leg swings – all cleverly disguised as something else. Nothing was traditional about how we did those movements, nor did we even spend time talking about them. It was as if they were invited into the room, mocked, then asked to leave. There is no judgement in that last sentence. I only wish to say that the humble tendu was decorated with writhing hips, torsos and arms, nothing held, nothing prissy. It became that awkward uncle who makes an appearance at the holidays. Yet I didn’t feel I needed those things and I am sure most in the room were also happy to not visit them. I still believe in them however, but with the rest of the class, just didn’t feel as though we needed to embrace them today. Waving from the car as we raced by was just fine with me.

“Take two full minutes bringing yourselves out of the floor to standing. Nothing will be accidental, every action will be deliberate and you must prepare for the subsequent action, to prevent unforseen movements. Know where you are at all times.”

By the way, two minutes is a really long time….

“If you are tired, find the pleasure in what you are doing, it is still in there. Give it a voice that is louder than the fatigue.”

We concluded by physically researching our new discoveries, patting down a partner, (rather aggressively I might add) and letting go even more. The pleasure was impossible to ignore.

Gaga addresses the performer as I suspected it would, but it seems to also bring a ferocious commitment to one’s own physical power, one’s own capacity to fulfill even the smallest movement and allow it to be seen from space. Who knows, I may grow weary of the whole process, I can’t predict what kind of longevity there is inside this work. But for now, after those mere 75 minutes, I have to say that it falls right in line with my love of learning new languages, and most importantly my need to be a part of something. Today that something was me.

P.S.

After class, I went to the Ha Carmel market to stock up on some produce – super cheap there – and  I also think I accidentally stole some peppers and cucumbers. I put everything in one bag and gave it to the man to weight..but it seems the peppers and cucumbers were the property of the booth next to the carrot guy’s. When I was quoted a price that is equivalent to $1.25, I was giddy. But how could 3 carrots, 3 cucumbers, a red, and green pepper cost so little? I didn’t mean to steal…if that is indeed what happened. Or maybe, produce really is that cheap?

BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT OF THE P.S. Therefore:

P.P.S.

I wanted to share with you that on the way to said vegetable stand(s), I saw a family of three. Both parents and their boy who looked to be about 4 years old. They were in the middle of the street – literally in the middle of the street  (the road was blocked off to traffic because of the market.) But don’t forget this was the middle of the street…The parents were standing behind the boy, clapping, and the boy with pants all the way down, was peeing on a plastic bag. Perhaps he too had just come from a gaga class!